It's All Fine
by ToriKat
Summary: I was asked to write something short based on a picture prompt on tumblr. So here it is... This is Johnlock, and if people want it continued, tell me, and I'll try my best! If that happens, rating will probably go up. Reviews are lovely as always! xx
1. Chapter 1

John Watson leaned against the cool wall of a building as he rested. Harry had made him take a holiday, FORCED him to. He supposed that he deserved it...  
"Get away from London, John. It'll be good for you."  
He knew she was concerned, but all he'd heard in her reasoning's was_ "Get away from London. Get away from the memories. Get away from that graveyard. Get away from Sherlock Holmes."_  
So he'd gone. And yes, it let him fill his head with images other than his best friend's bloody corpse. And yes, it was beautiful. And yes, he was... almost enjoying it. He was out on a walk round his hotel, seeing the TRUE parts of the city, not the tourist attractions. Everything was gorgeous and old and wonderful... But here were these bloody _stairs_. He leaned back against the wall, stretching. Damn his leg. Damn his cane. Course his limp had come back after... Well. It was back. That's all that mattered.  
_ 'Right John. You can do this. All it is is fucking STAIRS. You used to run. You used to jump from one building to another! Don't be pathetic. That's what you are. You invaded Afghanistan! You can climb STAIRS, for God's sake.'_  
He nodded to himself, acknowledging the voice in his head. He could do this. It wasn't that hard. Just one step at a time. Ignore the pain. You've felt worse. So, step by step, he started climbing, pausing every once in a while. He pretended he was pausing to look around at the beauty around him, which he did... But it was more the pain.  
Reaching the top, he rested a calloused hand on the building beside him, letting his fingers roll across the bumps and ridges. He didn't want to admit how exhausting that'd been for him. John looked around, taking in his surroundings. He'd stumbled upon a tiny square, where there was a small fountain in the middle. People milled aimlessly about, and John observed them as he limped over to an unoccupied bench. They all looked so happy. Oblivious to pain. Oblivious to sorrow.  
His gaze hovered over a man that was standing by the fountain. John didn't know why, but the man just caught his attention. Tall, pale, ginger colored hair that shone in the sun… The man was breathtaking. John watched him as he kicked around a football with a few young boys. Oh, how John wished he could do just that.  
As he thought this, the football ricocheted off the fountain, and rolled straight into John's feet. He smiled a bit, picking it up, and when he looked up, the breathtaking man was standing in front of him. _**Fuck**_. John found himself lost in a pair of ocean blue green eyes. He could swim in those eyes. In fact, that's what he was doing now. Swimming_. Fucking swimming_ in this man's eyes.  
"H…Here's your ball."  
Oh yes, very impressive, John. The man beamed, and nodded, taking the ball from John's hands, his long fingers brushing his.  
"Thanks mate. Would you like to join in?"  
John gave the stranger a small smile, and tapped his leg with his cane.  
"Wish I could."  
The stranger gave John a strange look, almost sad, and nodded.  
"That's fine. It's all fine."  
John wondered on that strange choice of words as he watched the man jog back over to the boys. Why those words? They made… Almost no sense. The man looked over at John, and gave him a small smile, a smile that jolted John down to his toes.  
"Oh… Oh God…"  
John choked out, and then he was suddenly standing, and _wait_, how did he get halfway across the square, and his cane was still on the bench, and everything was a blur, and he couldn't think, but everything just screamed _**Sherlock**_.  
And then John was there, right next to that oh so familiar looking man, and then man looked down at him in surprise, then his face morphed into an emotion that was nothing but proud. And John knew. John knew it was him.  
The man smiled, and reached out a hand to rest on John's shoulder, to steady him, because he could FEEL himself swaying.  
"Oh John."  
The man smiled, shaking his head.  
"My John. My beautiful, wonderful, genius blogger."  
And John's head was spinning, because yes, it was Sherlock. Of course it was. And then he was angry, so angry, but so relieved, and his cheeks were suddenly wet, and he was gripping the man's hand so tight… And then John did something any normal person would do when presented with the fact that the person they loved, and who had been dead for who knows how long, suddenly is there in front of them, and is calling them things like 'beautiful' and 'wonderful' and a 'genius'.  
He fainted.  
But not before being pulled to his love's chest, and not before bursting into sobs, and not before chanting 'Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock' over and over.  
And definitely not before those beautiful pink lips were placed on his.  
Nor did he faint before he heard that beautiful baritone in his ear, lips brushing his skin.  
_**"I love you."**_  
In fact, yes, that was what made him faint. That was biggest shock of all…  
_God_, he needed to thank Harry for this holiday.


	2. Chapter 2

_**((WARNING: AND SUDDENLY, A WILD SEXUAL ENCOUNTER APPEARS! I actually wrote this less graphic than I originally planned, because it turned into fluff. I wanted it to be loving, as I think it would be for Sherlock and John. Their feelings have been denied and frowned upon and crushed and impossible for so long. And now they're free. Plus virgin!Sherlock and GingerBatch because hmm, it's so lovely. Also, some hints at John/Greg. I do love that ship, which is sort of strange. Not beta- ed. Never beta-ed. So I apologize for mistakes. But yes. Carry on… xx- Tori))**_

When John awoke, he was back in his hotel room. It took him a minute to realize that a long, warm body was curled around him, and he racked his brain, trying to remember who it was when-

"Hello, John."

Oh. Oh, now he remembered.

He rolled over, and just stared at the man in bed with him. It really was Sherlock. It _had_ to be. Same nose, same precious beauty marks, same small scar, same pink cupid's bow lips, same ever changing eyes. Sherlock.

_His Sherlock._

"Are you alright, John? You fainted. I'm sure you're thirsty. Here, let me get you some water."

The taller man made to get out of the bed, and John instinctively grabbed him.

"Don't you fucking DARE leave me."

Anger was slowly creeping over John, soaking his senses.

"You better explain, NOW, before I fucking punch you in that pretty face of yours."

Sherlock's eyes widened comically at John's sudden change of emotion, and cleared his throat.

"John, I don't-"

"NOW, Sherlock."

Sherlock winced at John's tightening grip, and nodded.

"It was a trap, John. I'd planned ahead, just in case, but I never thought it would actually happen… And I never imagined his web to be so widespread. He... He had _snipers_, John. Killers… Trained on everyone who… who mattered. Who still matters. Lestrade, Ms. Hudson… _**You**_. If I didn't die, you would. So… I died."

John glared at him.

"Oh. Couldn't be bothered to send me a post card, you know, letting me know who were ALIVE?"

Sherlock sniffled, looking away.

"I'm so sorry, John. I had to… rid of Moriarty's web… They'd kill you, if they knew you knew I was alive."

John sighed, running a hand over his face, before looking up at Sherlock.

"I… I was… It killed me, Sherlock. I… I _loved_ you. I'm sure you knew it, too… But… I never got to actually tell you. My last memory of you was… seeing your bloody body, and feeling no pulse, I…"

John choked back the lump in his throat, trying not to cry. The past three years hadn't been good to either of the two men, and it showed. In their eyes, their voices, their faces. They'd seen too much. Experienced too much. Lost everything.

"Sherlock…"

Sherlock gathered the smaller man into his arms, holding him tight.

"John… I'm here, John… I won't leave you again… I'm so sorry…"

It wasn't clear who did what first, but suddenly they were kissing, melting into each other, and giving what they'd wanted to give for so long. John clutched at Sherlock, dominating his mouth, almost violently. He needed him. He needed this to be real. He needed to know this beautiful man really was here with him, warm and living and breathing. Sherlock let John mold him how he wanted, just holding him. He'd missed him so much.

"J… John…"

Sherlock choked out softly, tears stinging his eyes.

"I love you. I've…. Always… I think I fell for you the first day we met. And it scared the living shit out of me. I… I'm so sorry for leaving. Forgive me, please."

Sherlock watched his blogger smile softly at him, and push a curl out of his eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes. I died every day, just praying that you'd somehow come back… I… I loved you every single day, all through these 3 years while you were gone, and I'll love you for a thousand more."

Sherlock froze, his heart swelling with warmth. John loved him. John wanted him. John waited for him. So he let his emotions take over. He allowed his tears to fall. Because he was _**loved.**_

John smiled, and kissed Sherlock gently.

"Red hair, huh?"

Sherlock laughed through his tears.

"Yes, well, I had to change my looks at least a little. I actually kind of like it."

He ran a hand through his ginger curls, looking up at John, who nodded, then spoke in a light tone.

"I think I'd like for your clothes to be off now."

Sherlock smirked a bit, looking up at John in mischief, despite his red eyes from crying.

"Might not want to say those things, John. People will talk."

John basked in Sherlock's familiar words, happiness surrounding his mind.

"Let them."

_0000000(this is a page break and my page breaks never work so here it is lawlz, sorry)00000000_

The two men ended up ordering dinner first, just lying with each other, catching up. Sherlock had been traveling all over the world, tracking down Moriarty's men. John had been going to work, and… trying to stay alive. He'd become… good friends with Greg; they'd gone out a few times. Sherlock cringed at this.

"Nothing came of it, Sherlock. Greg and I are good mates. He and I… helped each other is all."

John blushed, remembering those drunk, heated, tear filled nights with Greg. They were both so shocked by Sherlock's 'death'. They'd been each other's comfort.

Sherlock sniffled, and nodded. He knew what John meant by 'helped each other'… It hurt, but he understood. And it was his fault anyway. So he stood, without speaking about it further, and stretched.

"I think I'll take you up on your offer."

"What offer?"

"The 'taking-off-our-clothes' one."

"Sherlock that wasn't an 'offer'… It was… That doesn't even make sense."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's words.

"Shut up."

John was about to give a retort when the detective did something that really did shut him up. The taller man rucked his tight navy t-shirt up and over his head. (Apparently the disguise consisted of a style change too.) John's cheeks heated, but he couldn't help his eyes from running over the body in front of him.

Anticipation.

They'd seen each other naked before, but this would be different. VERY different. This would be seeing each other in a totally different light.

"John?"

The deep voice was soft, timid. John smiled at his- What? Boyfriend? Lover? - And began to unbutton his shirt, letting Sherlock know all was fine.

The air was tingling; you could _taste_ it. Thoughts were seen, eyes burned, breaths turned shaky. The doctor made the first move, standing, and just f_eeling_. Sherlock was all hard lines and angles, but he was _soft_. Soft hair, soft eyes, soft lips, soft skin, soft touches, soft whispers. John basked in it all. Kisses down that long neck, a nip at his shoulder, a swirl of his tongue round a rosy pink nipple, light butterfly kisses down Sherlock's stomach, nuzzling his nose into the dark hair under his belly button, then a long suck at one of his jutting hipbones. Sherlock whimpered, watching.

John was doing this to him. John loved him. John wouldn't hurt him. John would take care of him.

"Sherlock?"

John's voice was husky, and Sherlock smiled at the sound.

"Yes?"

John looked up at him, suddenly looking very serious.

"Are you a virgin?"

Sherlock hesitated, swallowing, his mind going through all the options. To tell or not to tell? He didn't want John to… Not want him… if he was inexperienced. But eventually he sighed, and just told the truth.

"… Yes."

John nodded. He'd assumed as much. Kissing over the pale expanse of skin in front of him, he spoke.

"Do you want to do this?"

Sherlock sighed, rubbing his face.

"Oh please, John. I'm not some wilting flower. I've waited years to have you. Now hurry up."

John rolled his eyes.

"Things like this can't be _rushed_, Sherlock. Stop being a prat. Now, do you want to top or bottom?"

Sherlock swallowed hard, and looked away from John, thinking. He felt a blush start to cover his cheeks as he looked back to his lover, and spoke.

"I… I want you to feel you, John… I want you to… to fill me. Make me whole, John. Please."

John swallowed hard, eyes wide, the words going straight between his legs.

"Oh God, Sherlock..."

He choked out, before pushing his lips to the detective's, his hand squeezing Sherlock's engorged member through his jeans. Damn, those jeans. Fit him perfectly.

"_**Off.**_"

John's words came out as growls. Sherlock frantically powered at jeans, shimmying out of them. John hopped around on the floor, pulling his legs out of his jeans and pants. When he turned back to the bed, Sherlock was spread out, naked, before him. His mind went blank at the sight. This beautiful man was all his. After years of waiting and hoping and praying, Sherlock was his. He stumbled over to his suitcase, digging for his lube and condoms. He'd brought them with him, hoping maybe someone in Italy would take pity on a poor, crippled army soldier. Crawling back onto the bed, he noticed Sherlock's arched eyebrows, and he knew what the man was thinking. Thankfully, Sherlock didn't say anything about it.

The good doctor made his way back onto the bed, pouring lube onto his hands and warming it. He could feel Sherlock's eyes on him, and smirked as he let out a gasp as John gave his cock a long stroke. Perfect. This felt perfect. But then Sherlock grabbed his arm.

"No, John. I… I want to come from you alone. You inside me."

John's eyes widened. Fuck. Did Sherlock not know what his words did to him? He nodded, and slowly pushed his lover's legs apart, suddenly nervous. He had to do this right. He didn't want to hurt Sherlock more than it already would. He could already sense Sherlock's fear, despite his brave face.

"S'alright, Love."

John whispered into Sherlock's ear quietly, rubbing his legs. He wanted him comfortable. Then, slowly, he-

Sherlock gasped at the sudden intrusion, his muscles clenching.

"J… _John_."

"It's alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock whimpered, basking in the peculiar feeling of John's fingers- those beautiful, steady, doctor's fingers- picking him apart, and turning him into a quivering mess. They stretched him, but it wasn't that painful. It was… pleasurable. Extremely pleasurable. Especially when he-

Those fingers arched upwards, finding that secret bundle of nerves, and the tall man jerked up, crying out.

"FUCK! John… NOW, John, _please."_

The last word was a whimper, and John swallowed, reaching for a condom, hands fumbling, but Sherlock stopped him.

"Please let me feel you. I… I'm clean. And you're a doctor, so you are too. It's safe."

John laughed softly at Sherlock's pout, and nodded.

"Okay, Sherlock. Whatever you want."

John squeezed Sherlock's hand, before readying himself, and gently starting to push in past the hard ring of muscle. He got maybe about halfway when Sherlock gripped John's shoulder tightly, his eyes wide in fear, whimpering.

"John… It hurts, John. I… I can't… I can't do it, John."

John swallowed hard, and touched Sherlock's cheek gently.

"Shh… Shh… Look at me, Sherlock. It's alright. It'll stop. You have to trust me, Love. You can take it, Sherlock. You can take it."

Sherlock whimpered, and shook his head, but dropped his arm, and rested it on John's hips, urging him to go further… John eventually slid home with a gasp, and he rested his forehead on Sherlock's, forcing himself not to move in the tight heat. Sherlock was panting, his face pushed up into John's neck.

"You alright, Sherlock?"

After a few seconds, his lover nodded, and looked up. His ginger curls were already plastered against his forehead with sweat, and his silvery eyes stared into John's own blue ones.

"Thank you, John. For loving me."

John smiled softly, and gripped Sherlock's hands gently, before starting to move. It was hot, and tight, and slow, and loving. It was him and Sherlock, speaking all the things they'd wanted to over the past three years. Expressing their love and sadness and anger and aguish. IT was soft cries, and calling out each other's names, and whispered proclamations of love.

And then… it was rushed, and frantic, and all too much. It was Sherlock keening John's name, his nails digging into John's back, hips bucking. It was John pressing soft kisses onto Sherlock's skin, cooing to him that it was okay. That he could let go, and he could feel, and to let it take him. It was sudden relief, pressure leaving their bodies like rockets, their heads in space. Stars floated by, clouds drifted underneath them.

Euphoria.

And, slowly, they floated back down to Earth, safe in each other's arms.


	3. Chapter 3

_((What is this? Another chapter? Wut? Lawlz, yes, surprise surprise. I didn't even know I was gonna write this but it happened okay? And so yeah. Enjoy. I hope. Please excuse the mistakes; it's like one in the morning. __**Also, if anyone has any requests, I'll be happy to take them. This story (if I have requests) will turn into a collection of random days in the life of the boys and their friends. I think that'd be a lovely idea, so there's that. Also, hints at sexy times and self-harm in this chapter so yeah idk just sayin. **__xx ))_

Sherlock cuddled closer to his lover, on the couch of 221b. Today was the 3rd anniversary of him returning home to John. Of him LIVING again. Of them finally, FINALLY loving each other. It'd been three years, and John still loved him. STILL. It shocked Sherlock every single morning, to wake up next to this wonderful man. Sometimes he'd wake up in a cold bed, and he'd think "well, John finally came to his senses then." But then Sherlock would walk out to find John making them breakfast, or he'd find a note to him that said 'Gone to work, we still on for lunch? I love you. X- John'.

Sherlock always kept all the notes. They were special to him, although he'd never let John know he kept them. He knew the smaller man would never let him hear the end of it... Smiling, he looked over at John, who was still sleeping soundly. He never thought in his entire life that he'd ever love someone like he loved John. John was everything to him. John was toast and jam, and tea, and jumpers, and soft tan skin, and deep blue eyes, and that SMILE. God, that smile said so many things.

_"I love you."  
"You're an idiot."  
"I can't believe you just did that."  
"I'm so proud of you."_

He loved everything about his blogger, his doctor, his soldier, his John. Most importantly, though, he loved that John loved him. John LOVED him. HIM! Sometimes Sherlock got scared John would get bored with him, but he hadn't so far.

The taller man nudged his boyfriend gently.

"John. Wake up. We should move to a bed or else your shoulder will hurt in the morning."

The doctor woke slowly, groggily.

"Sh'Lock? What… time is it?"

"Two in the morning."

John groaned, and sat up, stretching out his back.

"Damn. I'm getting too old for wild shagging on the couch."

Sherlock chuckled, and smoothed down John's wild grey-blonde hair.

"You're not old, John. Not at all. You're perfect."

The words made John blush, and he stood, looking over his lover's body. Sherlock was young, so full of energy. Smooth skin, taut body, not a touch of grey in those dark curls. The younger man blushed at his lover's gaze, and stood, pulling him towards his bedroom.

"You've got work in the morning, John."

Never in a million years had Sherlock thought he'd be the one watching over somebody- taking care of somebody. But John was special. He took care of John, and John took care of him. That's all they needed. The men crawled into bed, immediately curling to each other. Sleep came quick for John, who drifted off to sleep to the tune of Sherlock's heartbeat. The sound comforted him. It gave him a steady chant of _"alive, alive, alive, he's alive"._ Sherlock continued to rest of the night in the world of in-between; somewhat sleeping, but not quite. He waited until, hours later, John's alarm sounded, and the pair got up. John went straight into getting ready (after a good morning kiss), while Sherlock walked round in his dressing gown, and made his sweetheart breakfast.

"What time should I come for lunch today, John?"

"Actually, Sherlock, I'm gonna be really busy. No lunch date today I'm afraid."

Sherlock frowned, and looked up, but John wouldn't meet his gaze. Not meeting for lunch? But they ALWAYS met for lunch. And… Today was SPECIAL. John ALWAYS wanted to be with Sherlock on the anniversary… Sherlock watched John scarf down his breakfast, and then grab his coat.

"Bye, 'Lock. I'll see you tonight. I love you!"

And then he was gone, leaving Sherlock alone and… somewhat panicked. It felt as if… his worst nightmare was coming true. He knew there'd be ONE day… One day where he and John would end. He knew it, and he'd tried to prepare himself for it… But, now felt so SOON… Maybe he could change John's mind. Because, as far as he was concerned, John would be leaving him tonight. And Sherlock knew he wouldn't be able to last a day without him.

So he tried everything.

He cleaned the entire flat, he didn't do any experiments, and he did the shopping… He texted John all day, but was ignored… Even the SEXY ones were ignored! John NEVER ignored those…

The day passed agonizingly slow, and by the time 5:30 came around, Sherlock was a mess. He'd come to the conclusion that he couldn't manage without John. It wouldn't happen. Also, there was nothing he could do to win John back. His blogger had been distant and drifting for a while now, and nothing was working to bring him back. He was losing him. So when John walked into their flat, grinning, and carrying Chinese, Sherlock just about burst into tears.

"_John._"  
The smaller man was crushed in the arms of the taller man, who was talking 90 miles a minute.

"Please, please, please, I'm sorry that I'm difficult, but I LOVE you. I'll always love you. And todays our anniversary and I just want to please you and be with you. I… I cleaned up, see? And I did the shopping, John. And I didn't do ANYTHING dangerous today!"

John frowned, pulling back to look at the babbling detective.

"What are you on about, 'Lock?"

Sherlock swallowed nervously.

"Y… you've been… not yourself recently, John. And… Today, you ignored me… you didn't want to be with me… I… I f I'm not what you want John, I can change. I WILL change. Anything for you, John. Anything you want."

John frowned, and then sighed, running a hand over his face. Of course this would happen. It WAS Sherlock after all. He set the food on the table in the kitchen, and met Sherlock's eyes.

"Sit."

The younger man sat heavily in a chair, slumped in fear. John kneeled between those long legs, and clasped Sherlock's hands in his.

"Sherlock, Love, I could never get bored of you. You're everything I need in my life. You're frustrating and loving and funny and beautiful and sexy and childish and COMPLETELY insane. And I love you. I'm so sorry for worrying you."

Sherlock sniffled, running his long fingers over John's slightly shorter, tan ones. Sherlock loved John's hands. They were tan and calloused; a soldier's hands. They were soft and steady; a doctor's hands. They were comforting and firm; a friend's hands. They were so… filling and devilish and dirty; a lover's hands.

"Wha… Why didn't you want to eat lunch with me today?"

John swallowed, and kissed the inside of Sherlock's wrist gently, nuzzling his nose against the faint scars there. Scars made long before John came to make them better.

"I went shopping."

"Shopping."

The deep baritone voice was monotone, emotionless.

"Yes, shopping… For these."

Out from his pocket John pulled out a small black box, and Sherlock froze.

"I meant what I said, 'Lock. About how I could never be bored with you. About how you're everything I need. I… I can't be without you, Love. Six years ago, you… you died. And I died right along with you. I spent days at your grave, just praying that you'd return to me. It… Broke me… And that's when I knew I loved you, and I'd always love you-"

"_**John.**_"

Sherlock choked out, gripping John's hands tightly, pale eyes wide. John shushed him, and continued.

"Three years ago today you came back to me, 'Lock. And the real miracle was that you loved me. You LOVED me. YOU. And now look at us."

John reached for the box, opening it, and revealing two plain silver bands, one with a ring of ebony around the middle, and one with a ring of gold. The silver and ebony one was removed carefully, and held out to the dark headed man.

"Sherlock Holmes, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter how dangerous or crazy life with you might be. I love you. And… I want to be able to call you my husband, and you to call me yours… So… If you'll have me… Will you marry me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock stared at the man before him in shock. His whirring mind had stopped, leaving him speechless. John wanted him, wanted him forever. He didn't know he was crying until John brushed a tear form his cheek, and cleared his throat anxiously…

So the mildly insane, definitely childish, a tad flustered consulting detective gazed down at his cuddly, loving, gentle blogger. His doctor. His soldier. His best friend. His John. And he gave him an answer.

"Oh, God, _**yes**_."

What followed was a lot of crying, some laughter, much Chinese food, and hours of celebratory love making. Yes, hours. And, although Sherlock groaned and grumbled about it, mortified, and wondered "why he was even marrying this man", John INSISTED that I end the chapter with this:

_And so the consulting detective and his blogger lived happily ever after._


	4. Chapter 4

_**(( A/N: This is for "ijustwanttobeabritishman". I hope this is to your liking, Lovey. And if it isn't… don't hate me please. :P If there's any other requests for the boys' future, or past, I'd love to take them. Much love xx- Tori))**_

The first person who found out, believe it or not, was Sally Donovan. They were at a crime scene, an open and shut case. Sherlock only came because it was either this, or meet with his brother, and obviously no competition between choices. So the tall man went, stating how "bored" he was, and rolling his eyes at the corpse.

"Sherlock. _Behave._"

John hissed, and shoved his fiancé forward to talk to Greg. Soon the silver headed man was red in the face, and Sherlock was gesturing madly… And John had to stop, and think: "This is my life now." He watched Sherlock's wild movements, trying not to laugh as the man dropped to the ground, then popped back up, grabbing Anderson to use for a reenactment of some sort.

"Watson!"

John looked up at the voice, and saw Donovan gesturing him over. Thinking it was for the case, he walked over quickly.

"What've you got?"

"Let me see it."

John frowned.

"See what?"

"The ring, let me see the ring."

John felt his cheeks heating up, and involuntarily touched the new ring on his ring finger.

"How did you-?"

"Oh for fuck's sake…"

Sally grabbed his hand, examining the engagement ring, her eyes wide.

"So it's true. I can't believe it. Actually, I can. You and the- and Sherlock. It's always been you two."

John smiled a bit as Sally said Sherlock's real name, and nodded. The woman grinned, and leaned in close.

"Well? Tell me how it happened. Who proposed? What were the reactions? I saw Sherlock's ring earlier… And I just KNEW. Don't know how, but I knew. And I know he won't tell me anything if I ask, so go on. Talk!"

John cleared his throat, and stuttered out his words, a bit intimidated by the sudden burst of extreme feminine excitement.

"U… Uh… Well… Basically I'd been thinking about it for a while… And… I was so… I was scared. That he'd… refuse me. But I finally… I got up the courage, and proposed-"

"YOU proposed? What'd he do?"

"He kind of froze up… And cried a little."

Sally smiled, and looked over at the consulting detective, who was studying the pair with narrowed eyes.

"I'm happy for you two. Since you've been here, he's actually been bearable. You make him happy; better. The first time I met him, he was in the ICU, beaten up and high out of his mind… And now look at him."

John stared at her in shock. She sounded as if she… actually cared. Even if just a bit.

"If you hurt him John, you realize you'll have all of us to deal with. And if HE hurts YOU, he'll have the same."

John nodded, and then jumped when a hand snaked around to his hip.

"I don't plan on hurting him, so there's no need to worry."

Sherlock's deep voice sounded in his ear, and John shivered as teeth nipped at his ear. Sally made a face, and rolled her eyes.

"Can you and your pet get a fucking room, Freak?"

Back to her nasty self… But John finally got it now. Sally cared- they all did. But instead of pity and _feelings_, she and Sherlock preferred to act terrible towards each other. Maybe it was better that way, for Sherlock at least. Sally walked off, and John turned to his fiancé.

"She knows. She'll tell Anderson, and half the force. Reckon we should tell the others?"

Sherlock made a face. John sighed.

"At least Greg and Molly?"

"Fine. Fine."

The two men walked back to the main area, where the Detective Inspector was standing.

"Sherlock. Tell me again, in ENGLISH this time you prat."

The dark headed man sighed, and began to speak.

"Simple murder, Lestrade. The girl is in University, according to her book bag. Recently engaged- her ring is brand new. Met her fiancé at school, their relationship was rushed. She found out about his having an affair with his professor- a male professor. You'll find proof of that with just a glance, really. Obviously she confronted him about it, they fought. She threatened to tell the police, he hit her. She fell, cracked her head on the fireplace. Her fiancé freaked. Find out his name, and check friends and family. That's where he will have gone. He's too stupid to disappear… Speaking of fiancés, John and I are engaged and will be getting married shortly, I'd expect. Any questions?"

Greg's mouth dropped open. John sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.

"_What?_"

Greg's voice was incredulous, and he stared at the two men in shock. Then, slowly, a grin lit up his face.

"You're serious? Congrats! I can't believe it…"

Sherlock gave the man a dry smile, and stepped closer to John. He couldn't believe it either, but here he was, engaged to his best friend. Greg continued.

"I mean… FINALLY. I thought you'd NEVER… Who popped the question? Or… Was it like a joint thing…?"

"I did. I asked him."

John's voice was soft, but his smile was large. He was proud of himself. He was so _happy_.

"Well… We… We should celebrate!"

Sherlock sighed at Greg's suggestion.

"John and I have already c_elebrated_, believe me. Many times. In fact, last night he did this thing where-"

"_SHERLOCK!"_

John blushed madly at his lover's words, and Greg chuckled awkwardly, looking away. Sherlock sniffed, and spun round on his heel, walking off to call a cab.

"S… Sorry… About him…"

John coughed, embarrassed, but Greg shook his head cheerfully.

"Nah. S'alright mate. It's fine really, I'm shagging his brother. Drinks later?"

John nodded, mouth open, gobsmacked. What on Earth… Was this everyone-admit-their-secrets day? Greg and… _Mycroft? MYCROFT?_ Well fuck him; he couldn't see that at all. He mutely followed his fiancé, half in shock. This was turning into a strange day.

_** #########**_

__Molly found out later that evening. Sherlock's microscope was broken, and he was reduced to using the ones in the lab. He walked in alone, since John was out with Greg, and frowned when he saw a figure bent over a counter.

"Molly? It's late, what're you still doing here?"

The brunette looked up, eyes wide, but then relaxed when she saw who it was.

"Oh. Hi Sherlock. I just thought I'd see if these cultures were done. It's not like I have anything else to do."

"You're young Molly. You should be out."

"You're young too, ya know."

Sherlock smirked a bit at her retort, and sat beside Molly to start his work. A few years ago, he would've hated her comments, hated even her presence… But now he knew her. She wasn't just Molly. Not anymore. She'd saved him. She'd protected him. She'd protected John, and Greg, and Ms. Hudson. She was brave. She was selfless. Molly knew how to handle Sherlock's moods, and not once had she left him alone. She'd been everything he had for a few years of his life. And she'd done all this for him, even though he'd treated her like shit the majority of the time he'd known her. Even now, although they didn't seem it, they were as close as they could be, emotionally. Molly was someone Sherlock could trust. _**Molly counted.**_

Sherlock got out his slides, tuning his microscope with a smirk on his face.

"Well. I'm not exactly free to go out like that anymore… Not like I would in the first place."

The girl sitting beside him looked up from sorting his slides, a bit confused. She knew about him and John- she'd been the one who'd helped Sherlock sort out his feelings for John in the first place. She'd been the one to tell Sherlock that John was going on vacation to Italy those years ago. She'd been the one that convinced Sherlock he needed John as much as John needed him… But… The way Sherlock's words were worded made things sound… different.

"What do you me…-?"

Molly trailed off as her friend waggled his left hand in her face, the silver band on his ring finger glinting in the light. The man smiled at her shocked expression, then bent back down with a sigh, busying himself with his microscope.

Silence.

Then a gentle touch on his arm.

He looked back up at the now beaming woman beside him. He could tell she wanted to hear about it, and he needed to talk to SOMEONE about it all. Just to say a little of his feelings, or his head would explode. So he did, voice so soft it was almost unheard.

"HE proposed to ME. It was his choice. He CHOSE to be with me, Molly. I never would have guessed that he would… That he would want me… All the shit I put him through… All the pain I put him through, all I've done to him. And he still wants me. He really does love me."

Molly smiled, and leaned down to press her lips to Sherlock's temple, and action she'd only done maybe twice in the past. Both of those times had been when Sherlock was at his worst, his emotions and addictions consuming him, craving anything… She'd laid with him, stroking his hair off of his sweaty forehead, her lips against his temple until he fell asleep… And now look at him. Look at her Sherlock. So full now. So _whole_. And happy.

"I could've told you all _that_, silly."

Sherlock looked up at her, his eyes tender; a thank you. Then the pair went back to work in silence, as if nothing had ever happened, falling back into normalcy.

_**#######**_

John arrived home late with Greg, who was half conscious and laughing hysterically. He wasn't expecting Sherlock home, so when he found the man sitting on the couch, he jumped.

"Hello John, Lestrade."

John smiled, and walked towards his fiancé, supporting Greg.

"You think this drunken sod can kip on our couch tonight, 'Lock?"

Sherlock made a face, but nodded, and helped John maneuver the fading Detective Inspector onto the couch.

"Ms. Hudson knows. She made cookies."

Sherlock smirked a bit.

"Not quite sure HOW she knows, but she does. Very excited about it too. She wondered if we'll still be needing the upstairs bedroom."

John smiled, walking into the kitchen. Sherlock followed.

"We should probably keep the extra room… Just in case we decide to maybe have-"

The man's words were cut off as the taller man pressed against him, leaning down to trace the shell of John's ear with his tongue. John moaned softly.

"Sh… Sher…"

"Shhh… Let's go to my room, Love."

John grinned.

"If you're just being a tease, I'll have to punish you."

Sherlock swallowed, the words traveling right between his legs, and his pupils blew up so only a ring of silvery blue was seen in his eyes. And to think at one point in his life he'd never wanted anyone, and he never wanted to WANT anyone… But… Right now, the only thing he could think about was how much he wanted the man before him… And he was going to die if he didn't get him…

Suddenly John had him pinned up against the counter, his lips, teeth, and tongue abusing the dark headed man's neck. Sherlock gasped at the sudden assault, and his hips bucked when he felt a hand move down to grab his cock through his trousers. John, you bad, bad man…

"Joh-_John…_ We're in the _kitchen._"

John chuckled, humming appreciatively at his fiancé's unsteadiness.

"Mm... Can't wait though…"

Sherlock whimpered. John pouted, but pulled away. He raised his hand to the younger man's flushed cheek.

"God, you're gorgeous."

Sherlock blushed, biting down on his full bottom lip.

"I love you so much, Sherlock."

"I love you too, John."

The two men made their way into the bedroom, but then Sherlock paused. Seeing Lestrade made a very annoying person pop into his head.

"What about Mycroft? Should we tell him? I know he'll come snooping around sooner or later, and I don't want him around more than absolutely necessary."

John smirked a bit at the tone of Sherlock's voice.

"Mycroft already knows."

Sherlock frowned.

"How?"

"Well, how do you think? I did things right, Sherlock. I went and asked for your hand in marriage before proposing to you."

"You did _WHAT?"_

"Oh shut up and c'mere."


End file.
